


Beware the Briar Rose

by Celebrusc



Series: The Prince and the Rogue [4]
Category: Mighty Morphin Power Rangers, Power Rangers
Genre: Gen, I honestly don't know what else to put for this, dark!AU, non graphic death of an unnamed OC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 00:36:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8822701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celebrusc/pseuds/Celebrusc
Summary: Three things happened in the summer of '93.First, high above on Earth's moon, Rita Repulsa was released from her prison.Second, in response, the inter-dimensional being known as Zordon summoned 5 teenagers and activated the Power Coins for the first time in 10 000 years.Third, unknown to Rita or Zordon, this released a third sorcerer not of Earth from his prison.ORThe origin of Thomas Oliver (sometimes its best to let sleeping beauty lie)





	

**Author's Note:**

> So I've worked out plot arc (essentially series) titles for each part of the Prince and the Rogue set during the main Power Rangers time line. Beware the Briar Rose technically covers everything up until the spell from Green With Evil is broken (the next arc, Never Tickle a Sleeping Dragon, starting with Spitflower). So this may get additions at some point. I'm also going to rearrange the series on AO3 into something resembling a bit more like order than just when I've posted it, so apologies for the confusion.
> 
> I honestly have no idea how to describe this section, except if you wondered how the Prince in White became Tommy Oliver? Here is half your answer.

** The Awakening **

 

Sometime in Summer, 1993

 

It was light, there was some sort of noise, then it faded back to darkness.

The next thing he was aware of was the feeling of his tongue glued to the roof of his mouth. The was fiery pain behind his eyes. Then once more there was nothing.

He couldn’t say how many times he drifted in and out, but finally he was conscious for more than a few minutes. He was groggy. His mindscape blanketed in thickest fog, a blur of senses, each running into the other. But he was awake.

Slowly, carefully, he opened his eyes. Blazing fired lanced into his skull, and he slammed them closed. Instead , he attempted to take stock of his body. He was weak, yes. Aching in places that he didn’t know could ache. His head was pounding, and bitter nausea danced on on the back of his tongue. However nothing seemed broken. Nothing screamed in agony beyond his head, and he chose to take that as a good sign.

He tried to remember how he’d got here. Tried to remember something, anything that would lead to what felt distinctly like a terrible case of magical over exertion. But the fog bank rolled in again, and he slipped back into the darkness.

The next time he woke for more than a fraction of time, it was dark. His eyes slipped open without the burning that had stopped him before, and he carefully tried to sit up.

 

Picture the scene, its a summer night in a woodland glade. There is not a cloud in the sky, and the stars dust the midnight blue sky above. The milky way curls a brilliant bright road overhead. The moon, rounded and full, softly sets the broad leaves below aglow as they gently sway in the soft sweet breeze. A figure stubbles forward from a small cave in the mountainside.

His hair is long and dark, tied back in a long pleat. He is clad in black trousers, with hardened protective plates, boots coming up to mid calf. His dark green tunic also carries protective plates as it hangs half way below his thighs, belted in gold. His arms are bare, and ripple with white scales and moving pictures of strange creatures. The same scales dust his face, and his eyes blaze with a brilliant bright emerald fire.

His steps are hesitant, faltering. He finally lets go of the wall, and steps into the glade

 

…and it is gone. In its place, endless sand. Glowing softly in the full moon light. The cliff behind him from which he had emerged looms so much higher without the trees to shield it, the soft earth leaving behind the hardened rock.

 

He tried to remember how he had got here, how the expected trees had turned to so much dust, and all he could remember was betrayal. A rainbow of light. And over whelming, raging, grief.

 

********

 

It was another two rotations of this world’s star, as he sat in the sand, before he had any idea at all. It felt like someone had ripped his heart out and left him there to bleed. He knew he had lost someone close to him, some one _green brilliant fiery inlove strong_ . Knew that he had fought a battle before the darkness started. Knew he was alone, and probably hunted. Knew he had to hide, to work out what was going on. Knew that this wasn’t his world. Hoped his memories would (probably) return with time.

He didn’t know how or why he was free. What had broken the shell of Power that had held him. Didn’t know his own name. These were all questions he needed answers to.

But he knew how to fight, knew the weak pulse of magic coursing through him like he knew his breath. The first step, was survival. Following that; his eye’s settled on the soft yellow glow marring the horizon. Interrogate the locals.

 

********

 

This settlement was weird. The path beneath his feet was some hardened material, like the carapace of a shell. The transport trundled along on the same level as the pedestrians, spraying chemicals into the air as they went. Everything clinging to the planet’s surface. Buildings rose at no more than a hundred levels. Squatting low on the horizon. Like they were scared of the sky. The people all seemed to be one species, human, a dark corner of his mind whispered. Whatever that meant, they were bipedal, and their surface layer seemed very vulnerable.

The longer he was there, the more odd looks he received. He moved into a narrow pathway without the transporters to give him time to think away from the main herd. He was slowing his breath, trying to think past the murk that still lay over his thoughts, when one of the locals decided to attack him. Their mistake.

It was no effort to pick them up, and pin them to the wall with one hand. Talons drawing blood as he experimented with how much pressure he would have to put on the fragile throat to break it. The creature whimpered and finally slid unconscious.

He tilted his head in thought. This was an opportunity. Apparently this world wasn’t used to off worlders, and well, he needed time. For time, he needed to blend in. But there would be a cost. His magic was over taxed as it was. If he did this, he didn’t know how long it would take for it to recover. How long he would be vulnerable for.

That said, from what he’d seen, what ever had trapped him was long gone, and nothing else he’d seen seemed like it would be a threat.

Picking up the still breathing, unmoving body, he turned and headed back out to the desert.

 

*********  
The next few rotations were slow, as he kept the being alive, and gathered what little he could to help him. Theoretically he could complete the spell work with nothing but his own will, but his reserves were low. He was going to use every scrap of help he could get.

The cycle of magic on this world was most immediately tied up with its largest satellite, and so he waited until it was at its smallest. The words he needed coiled from his tongue with practiced ease, even if he could no longer remember learning them. The screams he drew from his source hummed along the threads of magic he wove around them. The night was long, and when dawn came there was only one being standing in the circle of symbols scribed in the sand.

The boy looked about sixteen summers. Shoulder length brown hair fluttered around well built, pale shoulders. The flesh unmarked by scar or ink. Brown eyes gazed out from a gentle face, and he was clad in a plain green tshirt, and loose black trousers. Black walking boots on his feet, and a green checked shirt was tied around his waist. A bag sat at his feet, from which he withdrew a leather wallet. He flicked it open, running soft fingertips and eyes over the identification within.

 _Thomas Oliver,_  no,  _Tommy Oliver_. He could work with that.

For now, until he could remember otherwise, his name was Tommy Oliver.

 


End file.
